Have you ever noticed that the graver the uncertainty in the world, the more certainty you need? Which is why, first thing every morning, I study the weather: I check the little box in the corner on the front page. Then the five-day forecast. And after all that, the Weather Channel. I explain that I have to plan wardrobe layers accordingly. I explain that I need to know what boots, what coat. I explain that I need to adjust my attitude to fit climatic conditions: whiney or cheery. I explain that it’s winter and I need to be prepared, when really I am simply seeking reassurances.
Our five-year-old grandchild also loves and demands his rituals, for his own reasons, no doubt. On his regularly scheduled Wednesday play dates with his “TaTa” and Grandma every week, he insists we start by making a plan. We do this despite the fact that we all know the outcome of “the plan.” It never changes nor does the process, as we get down to business. We assume our same seats on the couch. We go in the same rotation (the boy is, of course, first) and state our proposals for the day ahead. The conversation never varies:
Grandpa (“TaTa”): “What do you want to do first today?”
Grandson: “Play with Grandma.”
TaTa (feigning rejection): “Why Grandma and not me?”
Grandson, on full authority: “Cause Grandma loves to play LEGO’s.”
Truthfully now, Grandma does not exactly love playing LEGO’s. In fact, Grandma doesn’t even get how to play LEGO’s, since all rules are subject to change and most lead to the destruction of her constructions. In addition, she is always assigned the loser bad guy role. Her LEGO guys must defend untenable positions, are attacked from all sides and are bound to give up essential components to “the good guys” who, did I say, sneak into her carefully crafted hideouts and take off with her most essential parts.
However, if you were watching, you might just note with what a generous spirit she accepts these conditions of play. You might also note how little say she has in the developing actions. She might concoct a subplot, but it is only a momentary digression. She just might head off an impending Ninja take-over or police maneuver by suggesting that all the guys (good or bad) need a nap, or need to eat dinner or perhaps even take in a movie. Her boy is amenable to said plot twists, but usually it only suspends the critical outcome for a brief moment before the ultimate defeat.
“Because the good guys beat the bad guys, right Tata,” our little guy announces. And isn’t that how it’s supposed to be? Aren’t the good guys supposed to triumph over the forces of evil? And isn’t this the kind of dramatic play that allows children to empower their imaginations and exercise their moral muscles?
Grandma wonders as she looks out the window between onslaughts how things could have gone so wrong in Washington? How is it that the integrity of the first black president in this country’s history — a model of decency, eloquence and fair-mindedness — could be followed by the election of a man who by all accounts is none of those things. What happened to the story line? How did the “bad guy” win? Grandma’s mind wanders even as the Lego games rages on.
“What are you doing, Grandma? We’re still playing, you know,” the boy points out after five minutes and then ten. However, grandparents are but a mere prop, as it turns out, assigned to their tasks — a foil for the child’s story. In the final analysis, her own imagination is simply no match for any grandchild’s, so rich in fantasy, and so fueled by positive energy. So indeed, “Grandma loves playing LEGO.” Or more accurately Grandma loves the boy. And she loves his instincts for the very qualities she values in her heroes.
She wants her grandchildren to grow up to be able to stand proud against an alignment of obstructive forces and still work for progressive change. To emulate Barack Obama, who despite great setbacks, still speaks in defense of our democracy. He still speaks of hope, still urges us to believe in our own moral agency and potential to build a more equitable, peaceful and just world.
And maybe, just maybe, next time Grandma will get to play with the good guys or at least join forces. There’s always a chance, but no reassurances.
Ruth Charney lives in Greenfield.